Snowpiercer
by gomenasai-for-everything
Summary: This is a Dresden Files Snowpiercer AU, with John desperate to get to the front to help his people, while Harry, the security and explosives expert he broke out of prison, just wants to save his daughter. I found the prompt for this on the Dresden Files Kink Meme, but for the life of me I can't find it again, so if anyone knows it, drop me a PM!
1. Chapter 1

A/N So, I'm really sorry that this isn't a new Learning chapter, but I promise I'll get it together soon! I just didn't want to go another week without posting, so I dug through a few old notebooks and found this and the other thing I posted tonight. I wouldn't expect either of them to get finished any time soon, but I just wanted to get something out, imperfect though it surely is. Hopefully you guys enjoy it a little anyway, and again, I swear I'll try to get back on track again next week!

* * *

The Carpenters were good people, I knew that as clearly as I knew that the girl settled on Michael's lap, clutching a protein bar, was not theirs. I'd seen her before, of course; in some ways, she was rather hard to miss, with dark hair that hung just a little longer than was usual for children on the train and very wide, warm eyes. I'd assumed that she was an orphan, given that I never saw her with the same adult more than once, and said adult was generally simply giving her a little extra to eat, or clothes that their child or children had outgrown. Obviously the Carpenters, already with a gaggle of children of their own, all of whom they'd had before they got on the train, had taken her in. I couldn't say I disapproved; she'd always seemed like a sweet child, and she certainly didn't deserve to have to fend for herself in such a place.

I smiled when I approached them, Hendricks at my side, and crouched so that I was looking her in the eye. I recognized the protein bar she held, knew it contained the next message I needed, and hoped only that she would be willing to give it to me. Michael watched me almost warily; he was a kind man, to be sure, but that had burned him before and I knew well enough that he didn't trust me entirely even if he generally did his best to aid me when he could. I was only thankful that his wife, Charity, was obviously elsewhere at the moment; she trusted me even less than he and I knew well enough that were she around, I wouldn't be able to get within a foot of the girl.

"Hello," I said, and she frowned at me, her forehead crinkling a little between her eyebrows. Michael looked to be fighting a tiny smile. "What's your name?" I tried when she didn't respond for a while, and she glanced up at Michael, as if to see if it was okay to speak. He nodded at her.

"Maggie," she said, and I kept my smile as welcoming as possible, held out a hand for her to shake. She did it lightly, her tiny, thin hand engulfed by my own. There was a certain strength to her face, though; I imagined that, given time, she would be quite formidable.

"Lovely to meet you, Maggie. I was wondering, would you mind trading that protein bar for this one?" I asked, gesturing towards the one in Hendricks' grip, and her frown faded only to be replaced by a teasing grin. She liked me then, at least a bit. Somehow, I suspected that that was worse than the distrust.

"No," she said, clear and concise and obviously amused with herself. Michael continued resisting a grin, but did at least try to help me, offering his own in addition to Hendricks', but the girl refused to be swayed, bouncing from Michael's lap and bounding away on quick, easy feet. Hendricks tried to catch her, of course, but she was obviously well-versed in moving through the train and, being much smaller than Hendricks, was able to go where he couldn't.

In the end, she was grinning down at me, Michael, and Hendricks all from a higher level of the train, face bright and eyes glittering, holding out the protein bar teasingly. I sighed.

"What do you want for it?" I asked, light, pretending a little annoyance I didn't quite feel simply because, despite myself, I did find her antics cute. I had a soft-spot for children, after all, though I rarely admitted to it.

"Can I have anything in the whole train?"

"Anything," I assured, hoping she didn't know enough to ask for something I couldn't actually give.

"You have a ball, right? I want to play with it," she said, and I pretended thoughtfulness for a moment, acted as if it were an impossible request I wasn't sure I could grant, until at last I nodded once, serious, and she passed me the bar once Hendricks tossed the ball and his own protein bar to her, then let Michael get her down and take her back to their compartment.

For myself, I was already digging out the message and taking it to Vargassi. This time, this last time, it was a name: Harry Dresden. An escape artist, Vargassi said, one capable of getting us to the front, of cracking the way through the doors as if they were little more than wooden cupboards, and one who had been in prison for some time now. I swallowed stiffly; we'd have to break him free, I knew that. Hendricks knew it too, but he doubted; I understood that, but I'd long ago decided that I would have to take risks if I was going to get us to the front, if I was going to install Vargassi leader. We would do it; I didn't have room for doubt.

The only part that bothered me was that Hendricks thought that I should be the leader, trusted me so deeply. He didn't understand how little I deserved it; I was not a good man, and I was not a worthy leader. It stung to bring up his mother, to ask if he remembered her, but it was all I could think to say to make him speak of something else. I spent the rest of the night thinking, planning how to what we had to do, but I did not expect the events of the next day, the forced acceleration of our plans.

The little girl, Maggie, was taken. Charity had tried to protect her, of course, because she was the youngest of their children and when this happened, it was always the young ones who were taken. She was beaten for it. A man who threw a shoe in a desperate attempt to save his own son lost his arm to the icy winds outside for his effort. Hendricks was hardly able to keep his peace, and I didn't blame him for it, though I tried to keep him calm, told him that it wasn't yet time. Even I could hardly stand to sit through the vile woman's speech about order and chaos, about knowing our _place_ , about us _belonging_ here simply because we hadn't been wealthy in our former lives, acting as if we _deserved_ what we were given. I could've killed her then and there. If I'd been the person I was when I first boarded the train, I probably would have.

As it stood, though, I let her live, and only filed away a few things that might have been important, though at that point I wasn't certain. I let a few minutes pass, let Vargassi try to help the man who'd lost his arm, and then… then, I started a revolution.

* * *

We gathered barrels from everyone to make something like a battering ram that would keep the gates from closing. I let Hendricks manage that on his own, mostly, and turned my own focus to getting some uncut Chrono; apparently Dresden was addicted to it and that was why he was imprisoned, or so the records said. I wasn't certain if I trusted them, but if they were correct, then it would likely be invaluable in convincing him to help us. Michael begged to come with me, to try and help the little girl. I'm sure Charity would've as well had she not needed to stay with their other children. I was a little unwilling to allow it, admittedly; I knew how strong Michael was, how big of a help he'd likely be, and yet… he was a good man, and he had people who needed him. I didn't want to be the cause of his loss. Despite that, I wasn't strong enough to tell him no.

We charged during the headcount; the little things I'd suspected proved true. They'd run out of bullets, the guns were just as worthless as the woman had said. Outmatching them physically didn't prove much of a challenge. They'd all gotten too used to us being afraid, to us not fighting back, and I couldn't begin to say how gratifying it felt to be able to fight, to win against them for the first time in so long.

Hendricks was the first one to see the container where Dresden was being kept, and so he was the one who got the keys to open it. It was a slow process, and the anticipation made a few people antsy; Hendricks cursed under his breath more than once before the drawer was at last opened.

The man inside looked not at all how I'd expected. He was young, younger than me and perhaps even Hendricks, and he was so tall that he'd had to be curled onto his side to fit in the drawer. He was very thin as well, far too much so for his height, though I supposed that could have been a byproduct of the imprisonment if he'd been there for long enough that I didn't recognize him. I called his name a few times and shook him, but he didn't awaken, and so instead I waved a piece of the Chrono under his nose. He jerked awake after barely a moment, eyes flashing open, wide and pitch dark. I took the Chrono away. He turned to face me, brows high.

"What the hell?" he asked, and I was about to answer, to tell him that we needed his help, when Michael shouldered past me and Dresden's face lightened like magic. Michael wrapped him in the sort of bear hug only a man of sufficient strength and breadth can manage, and Dresden only laughed, returning the grip with his stick-thin arms. "Hey, Michael. Since when did you become a law-breaker?" he asked, light, almost teasing, and I watched Michael's face tighten with something like guilt.

"When it became necessary. Harry, we're going to the front of the train, and we need your help. They… they took Maggie," he said, and I watched Dresden go stiff, shadows overcoming his face again.

"No," he mumbled, "no, no, no, not Maggie. Michael, why… fuck. You know I'll do what I can, just… hold on. Let me… Hell's Bells, where are the fucking keys?" he bit out, eyes flashing around the room before he caught sight of them in Hendricks' hand and snatched them before he even had a chance to react. He almost tried to fight him, then, but Dresden was already moving down the row of drawers until at last he came to the one he seemed to want and slid it open. Inside, another pale man lay on his side, his face still strangely smooth and soft-looking for having apparently lived a life in the back of the train. Dresden shook him awake, and he jolted up, mumbling something that was probably the security expert's name.

"Harry, who is that?" Michael asked, head tilted, and Harry smiled softly.

"Thomas, meet Michael. Michael, meet Thomas. We shared a holding cell for a few weeks before we got put here, found out a few things that made us… kindred spirits, I guess. If I'm leaving, so is he."

"So you will help us?" I asked, not really caring if another person came with us or not, and Harry snorted.

"Nah, I'm just going to crawl back in that drawer and sleep a few more years, asshole. Of course I'm coming with you. You can pay me with that Chrono you used to wake me up. Two pieces per door, yeah?" he said, and in a way, the clarity of his voice surprised me. I'd never known a Chrono addict whose voice hadn't gone rough and scratchy, but perhaps he'd only started using recently.

"I suppose," I said, and he nodded, holding out a hand to help the one he'd called Thomas to his feet. If I'd been in a better state of mind, I might've asked him why the first thing Michael had said was that Maggie had been taken, and why that seemed to bother him so much; after all, he'd almost certainly gone into prison before Michael and his wife had taken the girl in. I wasn't, though; at that point, the only thing that concerned me was opening the first door, and he had that done in hardly a moment. I only looked at him to pass him the Chrono, one piece of which he gave to Thomas. Kindred spirits indeed.

* * *

I didn't get much of an opportunity to speak with him until another door had been opened and he was working on the third, which, judging by the look on his face, was proving more complicated. I knelt beside him more on a whim than anything, and for a moment simply watched him work while Thomas stared over his head at the door, completely fixated.

"When I heard the rumors about you, I admit I was expecting someone older. Tell me, how old were you when you designed this train's security?" I asked, and he actually laughed a little, thin lips tilting up in an easy smile. The sharp, harsh angles of his face softened then, at least a little, and he paused over the wires he was fiddling with to look at me.

"People think I designed it? Man, I was, like, sixteen when I got on this train." I did my best to not show the surprise on my face; I'd had much practice over the years. Even still, I'm sure he saw at least a trace of it before he ducked his head back down to continue his work on the wires.

"If you didn't design it, how do you know so much about how to work it?" I asked, light, and he glanced up again, flashing another smile.

"Who knows? I picked up some stuff here and there, you know. Besides, I've always been good at breaking technological shit, and that's basically all security cracking is." He wasn't a very good liar. Michael wasn't either, obviously; he was near enough to hear our conversation, and the moment I asked, he looked away, face turned down.

"Oddly enough, I don't believe you."

"Probably a good idea all around. Knowing I'm lying doesn't exactly tell you much about the truth though, does it?" Thomas looked disgustingly amused as he turned his share of the Chrono in his hands, his eyes lazy and hooded. I wondered if he'd already gotten lost in the drug's hallucinations and hoped he wouldn't hold us back.

"No, it doesn't. I question only why you're lying to me to begin with, however. I've done nothing to make you distrust me." A spark issued from the control box he was fiddling with, and he lay the wires down completely, turning his full attention to me for the first time.

"Look, I don't even know your name, okay? I'm not here because I like you." I felt myself grit my teeth, felt the muscles in my arms go tense and heavy. Somehow, this man seemed to have a knack for just pissing me off.

"I realize. You're here for the Chrono; it's always amazed me what an addict will do for their drug of choice, really. I wonder, how long did you hold out before you started using to escape reality? Ah, and my name is John, by the way. John Marcone." He laughed again, louder now, and not even sounding angry as I'd expected.

"Listen, Johnny, you don't know anything. I'm not an addict; I can barely even stand the way that shit smells for a couple of seconds, much less long enough to get high off of it. Chrono's got more uses than just getting high, though, which is why I still want it. As for why I know the security on this train, I knew the guy who actually did design it. Now, if you want me to open this door, leave me alone." Thomas laughed again, louder this time, shaking his head.

"I wouldn't open it at all, actually," he said, light, grey eyes fixed on the door again. "There's people back there, and they all seem pretty pissed." I tilted my head, glancing at him, and Harry stopped immediately, turning his eyes to his easily; it was only at that moment when I realized that the only people he'd looked in the eye since we freed him were Thomas and Michael.

"You feel them?" he asked, quiet, quick, and Thomas nodded.

"Yeah. There's a lot of them, big guys, the hardcore security that haven't ever needed guns to kill you. Dear old dad hand-picked a lot of them." I heard Dresden curse, lip slipping between his teeth, and he turned his eyes to me (gaze fixed on my nose, like looking me in the eye would kill him) and frowned.

"What do you want to do, Marcone? Can your people fight?"

"Of course. Can you?" Dresden grinned, wide and sharp, eyes glittering.

"No idea. There's probably a few soldiers with some really weird scars you could ask, though." I couldn't hold back a little laugh at that, low and harsh with lack of use, but still I enjoyed the opportunity to use it.

"Open the door, then. We can do this," I said. We had come too far to turn back, after all, especially since I couldn't even be certain that the man at Dresden's side was right, though if he was I'd certainly have to ask how he knew at some point. Dresden nodded. I widened my stance, readying myself to fight. Sparks flew one last time as Dresden touched two of the wires together and the door slid slowly open. With that, an ocean of men in black masks fell upon us, fists flying and make-shift weapons swinging, and I decided that my curiosity over how Thomas had known could certainly wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Dresden ended up at my back, fighting like a wild dog, thin and rangy and snarling, fists flying like mad. It had been a while since I'd seen someone fight like he fought, and when I was able to look at him I sometimes thought I was staring into a mirror reflecting who I used to be, untrained but strong, desperate and wanting only to live another hour. Thomas, though, Thomas was different; he'd obviously been taught how to fight, and taught very well. He moved with an easy, sinuous sort of grace, sliding under swings of weapons and landing his fists right where they were weak. Dresden grinned at him, then shot to one side, punching the head of a man who'd been coming at me without my notice. I felt a little like a fool and had to drag my eyes away and back to my own fight.

They'd underestimated our force again, that was easy to tell, and it would be their downfall this time. I kept on thinking that until I slipped over the dead fish they'd used to dip their axes in blood, to intimidate us, felt my back slam against the train floor and there was a man coming at me and for a moment I was sure that I would die before Dresden yanked me out of the way, gave me the second I needed to catch him in the back of the legs and make him fall. Another man was coming quickly on his heels though and Dresden had turned away. I couldn't stand fast enough. Hendricks barreled into his side and sent him sprawling while I was on my knees and I managed a weak grin before I killed him.

I disliked the feeling—killing had stopped being pleasant a long time before. I saw in Hendricks' face how worried he was at the way I had to act, but I forced myself not to look him in the eye as we kept moving forwards. For a moment the advantage was our again, but only for a moment. Only ever a moment.

The New Year rang out through the car; the bridge was coming up, and with it, I knew, debris, new ice for the train to burst through. I should have thought of it before we planned our attack, but for we who had to stay in the back, a new year wasn't worth a celebration. The fighters in masks counted down, as if we hadn't been spilling blood, hadn't been trying to kill one another, and Hendricks pulled me down to the floor beside him. I couldn't see Dresden or Thomas and hoped that they, or Dresden at least, hadn't died. One of the men who'd entered the car to announce the New Year screamed about an impact moments before it happened and the train crashed into a new pile of ice and snow that had fallen from the peak. Another impact, and I saw Dresden standing, half-supporting Thomas.

"Get down," I called, but he ignored me.

"He's high as a kite," Hendricks snarled, but I wasn't so certain. Thomas, maybe, but I'd just spoken to Dresden. He'd been lucid. Slowly, carefully, he brought Thomas to the window and I saw him grin, wild and bright and bold, saw his mouth move, but couldn't hear a word he said over the commotion. Thomas only smiled as if he were in awe of something, and then there was another impact that made me lose sight of them again. I landed beside one of the men in the masks and he gave me a bloodied smile that made me shudder. Finally, though, safe passage was announced again, and the man beside me tried to attack.

I wanted the fight to start again. Fighting was simple, after all, and we'd been winning despite the odds because desperation does strange things. Instead, the same woman who'd caused the man who'd lost his son to lose his arm as well returned. I wanted to kill her, and every moment I heard her voice amplified over the speaker, praising Nicodemus for treating us like slaves simply because it was his train that had saved us, made the urge worse. I felt like an animal, and for that moment, I didn't care. My fear of the sensation, of becoming what I had been once more, was overrun with anger instead. When she pronounced death on over half of us as if it were nothing, as if _we_ were nothing, I couldn't hold back any longer. I threw the axe I'd taken at her head. My only regret was that the man beside her blocked it with a sledgehammer. Then, though, then Dresden was beside me, snarling and enraged, Thomas' head light on his shoulder, and the men in masks were putting on binoculars of some type and the bitch I'd tried to kill only looked amused.

"Hell's Bells, what were you thinking?" he snarled, and Thomas laughed, loose and easy, like nothing was happening. "We're fucked, you know that?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Stones, did you just get aboard this goddamn thing? There's a tunnel after the bridge. A fucking long one." He looked like he wanted to hit me but he took in a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair instead, shaking his head, and for the first time I saw fear in his eyes. The vulnerability was strange, honestly. I hadn't entirely known that he could even bring himself to _be_ vulnerable in front of anyone, after all. It didn't seem like his personality. Thomas didn't laugh again, instead gripping Harry a little tighter and murmuring something in his ear I couldn't hear. Harry breathed in deep again, shuddering, dark eyes dropping closed for the barest of moments before they opened again. He looked like he was going to say something when darkness fell over the train and the slaughter started.

We were blind, and our hearing did nothing for us in the cramped space. I heard people dying, heard others trying to fight, and thought desperately of what we could do because I couldn't stand to let so many of my people die for something I'd convinced them to do. The barest flash of light shone across my eyes for a brief moment, through a small hole in the tunnel, and there was the solution.

"Fire! Chang, we need fire!" I wished that there had been a way to get it across without screaming, without telling everyone the plan, but it was the best I had and it was enough. Someone came with a torch the young boy had lit, a wild young man who Vargassi had taken as a son, and in the flickering light, we fought. The young man threw a knife that struck the bitch's leg and sent her sprawling. For a moment, I dared again to hope that we would win. It took only seconds for me to realize that suddenly the best I could've done wasn't good enough.

The man who'd blocked my axe was holding Hendricks, a knife pressed to his throat. Someone was helping the woman at the front get away. I had a choice. Hendricks stared at me, lips closed and firm, eyes hard, the man behind him glaring and cold and heartless. There was always a choice. If I let her run, the fighting wouldn't stop until all on one side were dead. I could not let that side be mine. I closed my eyes, turned away from my best friend, and let him die. I'd made my choice and I prayed that he would be able to forgive me for it even though I knew I deserved nothing less than I deserved that.

I hated the woman when I grabbed her and pressed a knife against her throat, made her call the fighting to a stop. I wished that I could kill her where she stood. More than I hated her, though, I hated myself.

Light flooded the train, and they did stop. I walked forward with her, forced myself not to look at Hendricks where he lie still and silent and bloody on the ground, and did not turn the blade to my own skin. She was afraid. I didn't care. I did care when the man who'd blocked my shot, the man who'd killed my best friend, tried to run, but I could do nothing but stop him with the woman in my grip. He was running and he would probably escape and ruin everything and make it all for nothing and that hurt, but it was a numb pain until I saw Harry jump onto his back, force him down onto a spike that Thomas had turned into a trap. The man reached behind himself and smeared blood on Harry's face and Harry jerked away, looking sick and frightened and battered, and at that moment, he couldn't even look Thomas in the eye. I stared at him. He must've felt me looking because he turned to face me, head down. I barely noticed the woman I was holding hostage, barely noticed Thomas' shift from the calm, half-high man I'd seen thus far into a growling animal, the way he forced the man's body further onto the spike, snarled in his ear, punched and kicked like the man wasn't already surely dead.

Very slowly, like his head was heavier than the world, he raised his head and he met my eyes head on, proud and strong and vengeful, and I could have cried like a child and held him forever in my gratitude. Then, at last, the silence broke as Vargassi hobbled forward, careful and steady. He closed Hendricks' eyes for me and I didn't think that I could ever thank him enough for that. Hendricks had always been too kind for what he'd suffered. I swallowed stiffly, shoving the woman to someone else so she could be detained because I didn't think that I could stand to look at her anymore.

Vargassi told those who had survived to wash the blood away and I watched them begin to obey with a mindless calm that I didn't have enough sense to worry over then. Harry knelt over Thomas as again they whispered to each other until finally, finally Thomas seemed to calm, slipping simply back into a harmless persona as Harry gestured towards the water supply room. He grinned and said something that made Harry smile, then wandered into the room to clean himself as Harry settled quietly at my side.

In a way I didn't think it was right, the way the washed the blood of allies away alongside the blood of foes. Something like this… something like this wasn't meant to be forgotten so easily, gone with only a bit of water and a quick scrub. It felt as if it had all been worthless.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, and I shook my head.

"There is nothing for you to apologize for. I made my choice." My voice fell flat and dead against even my own ears. Harry took my shoulder and forced me to face him, his eyes meeting mine again, deep and dark and heavy.

"That's not the kind of choice anyone should have to make. He was your friend; he seemed like a good guy." I laughed. I laughed and laughed and laughed and then I was crying and he let me do it without a word. I felt weak and I felt foolish and more than anything I wondered how Hendricks could have ever thought that I would be a good leader when all I'd ever done was hurt and betray. I heaved a breath and forced the tears to stop, though I still sometimes choked over sobs.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd notice. He only ever called you an addict." Harry shrugged, trying for a crooked smile that didn't hold entirely true.

"He wasn't the first to call me that, and a lot of people have called me a lot worse and been a hell of a lot more accurate. Your friend just said what he saw. That doesn't bother me, and I saw him try to do a lot to help. Like I said, he was a good guy." I hid another round of tears under a cough, as if I thought he would care.

"Thank you for killing the man who killed him. Is your…," I paused, realizing suddenly that I had absolutely no idea who Thomas actually was to Harry, or really who Thomas even was in general. His name would have to do, I supposed. "Thomas alright? He seemed… out of sorts, to put it mildly."

"No problem, John. I don't like seeing good people get hurt. Anyway, Thomas is okay. He's got his own demons, you know? Not really my place to go into it. He'll be fine for now, though. Thanks for asking." I nodded, thoughtless, and took another deep breath. Harry just stayed where he was, astoundingly human for the first time since I'd met him, face kind and open. People slowly trickled from the water room to start covering the dead.

"Why are you doing all this, Harry?" I finally asked, as more and more people returned. He only shook his head.

"You're not the only one with something to fight for, and at this point I don't think either of us have a whole lot to lose." I tried to ask again, more specifically, but he wouldn't answer, instead only tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, blood still a stark crimson streak across his face. Without thinking, I reached out and settled my hand over his. He smiled and didn't move and I tilted my own head back to watch the roof of the train with him. If I closed my eyes tightly enough, I could almost imagine that I saw clouds.


End file.
